John's hand briefly stilled on Sherlock's cheek at the other's unexpected words. At length, he exhaled, slowly, feeling quite emotional all of a sudden. Trust Sherlock to bring him off his balance even in sleep. No, him staying made no sense. But leaving was not an option, would never be an option. He would not know what to do with himself. It was pathetic, really, how much he leaned on Sherlock's presence in his life; and terrifying to think how quickly that had come to pass.
Sherlock remained silent for a while after that, and John was grateful for the silence. It allowed him time to breathe for a little, and look down at this extraordinary creature, so content and at peace in sleep. So trusting. At some point, John did not know when, his hand had resumed the gentle petting of Sherlock's hair.
In other, more embarrassing news, Sherlock's hand on his thigh was very warm, and felt far too nice.
It must be getting late.
"Sherlock," John whispered as he leaned forward, his mouth close to the other's ear. "Sherlock, wake up. Time for bed."
Succumbing to sleep finally, Sherlock's mind queited enough to let him get a bit of rest. He stilled for a long while, not stirring until John's breath was at this ear and he gave a sleepy groan of protest when he whispered into his ear.
"Waking me up to tell me to sleep is the most idiotically backwards thing I've ever heard." he groused, cracking an eye open to glare at him in groggy irritability. He distantly realized that he'd made himself at home in John's lap, sighing when he realized the proximity was probably making John uncomfortable. "Just hand me a pillow and leave me here." he offered, knowing John would probably not submit to being his pillow for the few hours sleep he needed, comfortable and warm as he was. He sighed softly and let his eye fall shut again, going still and quiet in John's lap once again.
John considered his situation for a moment. He did not feel very tired himself and was, on some level, enjoying the simplicity and intimacy of the moment. Making a decision, he looked around and reached out to grab the nearest book off the side table (Immunotoxicology and Immunopharmacology, third edition).
Opening it at a random chapter, he began to read, resting a hand in Sherlock's hand again. One hour. Then he'd go to bed.
Sherlock peeked his eye open again when John shifted above him, smirking to himself when he heard him open a book, privately pleased that he'd chosen to stay. He didn't know what exactly it was about this, but he didn't want to let go of it just yet, especially the way John's hand seemed to instinctively stroke his hair like that.
"I apologize if anything I happen to say while I sleep makes you uncomfortable. I've talked in my sleep since i was a child, I can't control it. Most of it is completely nonsensical anyway, and is not often relevant." he said with a small shrug, getting comfortable again and more than pleased to drift off once again.
"What, what you say in sleep, or in general? A lot of what you say seems completely nonsensical to me." Smiling to himself, John turned a page, not really taking in any of the words.
He wondered, however, what on Earth Sherlock could say that would make John awkward, here, in the comfort of their home, with nobody around to hear Sherlock. That, more than anything else, was usually what made John stare up at the ceiling, or his shoes, hoping people would realize what Sherlock said was what Sherlock said. Oddly enough, people always seemed to think he spoke for them both. Which... he sort of did, but perhaps not always in the words John would have chosen, given the chance.
Sherlock opened his eye just to roll it at John's response, huffing a soft sigh as he settled against him.
"You know what I mean. I just don't want you to take offense to anything I might say and try to blame me for it later, that's all. Most of it doesn't mean anything." he clarified, making to fall asleep again, but really just enjoying the warm comfort of using John's lap as a pillow while he was still conscious.
"Right. I see what you mean now with not often relevant. Go to sleep."
Not waiting for a response, John turned his attention to the book once more, wondering if he would get further than half a page before Sherlock would speak up in his sleep again. If he did, John fully intended to listen. Whether it made sense or was relevant did not matter. It was fascinating, and it was Sherlock, and most things Sherlock did drew John in like a moth to flame.
Giving a quiet grumble in response, Sherlock stilled again to try falling asleep again, surprisingly comfortable here in John's lap. He drifted back off fairly easily, his breathing slowing to something deep and even to signify he was asleep again.
"Mmn, John. Your new cologne, it's nice." he muttered, nuzzling happily into John's lap and squeezing his thigh gently. "I stole a bottle from your medicine cabinet. Still like it better on you." He sighed contentedly, enjoying the way he smelled even in whatever strange dream he was having.
And onto the floor the book fell. To hell with the cologne, John would buy Sherlock five bottles if he liked it so much. But the nuzzling into his lap and the squeezing of his thigh would have to stop, quickly at that. It had been some time since having Sherlock in his life meant an average of three weeks of dating at most, and the last one (Angie? Angela? Anna?) had turned out to be very... conservative. Not that there was anything wrong with that, per se. But it did mean that... nuzzling and squeezing was, apparently, pathetically, enough to have his body respond in the most unwanted of ways.
Slowly breathing in and out, John willed himself to relax. Sherlock was dreaming. Dreams went by very quickly. He would stop soon. No need to wake him. Oh, God, no. No need at all. The embarrassment...
Sherlock gave a soft grunt at John's sudden outburst, though was unperturbed beyond that. The warmth against his cheek was something he sought out, even in sleep, always nuzzling his pillow and gripping at the sheets in the same way every time he actually decided to get some sleep in his bed. It was instinctual and involuntary, though he'd certainly be interested in John's reactions if he were awake.
John's own instinctual responses only made him move even more, nudging his face into his lap as he searched for a comfortable position. "Pillow is ill-designed.." he said through a sigh, finally finding a comfortable enough spot to still once again after a few more long moments of shifting restlessly.
John had resorted to hiding his face in his hands, the skin of his cheeks burning hot against his palms. Sherlock's restless movements and continued nuzzling had caused John's body to go from 'curiosity' to 'attention' in a matter of moments. It was mortifying. There was no way he could wake Sherlock now. He would never be able to live this down. No. He would simply have to... keep breathing, there's a good soldier... and wait for it to pass. Sherlock seemed to have settled down. That was good. That was very good. Just slow breaths, and no more moving, and it would all be fine.
Sherlock shifted once more in sleep, stretching his arm to curve it around John's legs, hugging him close as he often did with his pillow. He wouldn't take well to John trying to wake or move him, perfectly comfortable right here on top of him.
The only issue with this was the slight shiver that wracked him then, being clad only in his pajamas and dressing gown and no blanket. He squeezed in as close as physically possible as though it would aid in getting more warmth, huffing a little in sleep at how the chill was dragging him back into half-sleep rather than the peaceful rest he'd been getting earlier.
John had quite forgotten about the deficit in cellular metabolism and respiration resulting in Sherlock's low body heat, he was so wrapped up in not moving and waking Sherlock up in the process. But of course, he must be cold. John looked around and frowned when he saw the blanket thrown over the back of Sherlock's arm chair, mocking him from afar. It was still too soon to get up and run the risk of waking Sherlock. John's state was far from acceptable. With a soft sound of frustration, he moved ever so carefully, pulling off his jumper and gently draping it over Sherlock's upper body. It would have to do, for now.
Sherlock made a soft sound of protest when John moved even slightly, his arm tightening around him to keep him right there. Getting covered with the jumper made him still with a gentle sigh, a smile tugging at his lips as he felt content enough to be lulled back to sleep.
"Mm, John." He gave a soft hum of satisfaction, knowing even in sleep that only John would be the only one worried for his comfort enough to keep him warm. "Thank you." he murmured, squeezing him tight and going boneless against him in an unconscious effort to make it impossible for him to move.
"Welcome," John murmured back without even thinking about it, momentarily forgetting that Sherlock was, in fact, asleep. Sighing, he resigned himself to a little while longer of this.
At length, he checked his watch, revealing the time to be a little past midnight. Time to go to sleep, if he was going to be worth anything in the morning. Shifting carefully, he tried to slip out from under Sherlock, but knew that to be a lost cause before he even started.
"Sherlock," he murmured again, resting his hand on top of the other's hair once more. "I'm going to bed."
Humming softly in response, Sherlock fell into blissful slumber again, going quiet as he fell into deep unconsciousness. He was having a very lovely dream about a serial killer who left mysterious coded notes at every crime scene before John's voice roused him. He made a petulant sound of objection to that plan, making no move to allow him up.
"Just lie down here." he groused, not willing to give up his pillow and source of warmth that easily.
Sherlock remained silent for a while after that, and John was grateful for the silence. It allowed him time to breathe for a little, and look down at this extraordinary creature, so content and at peace in sleep. So trusting. At some point, John did not know when, his hand had resumed the gentle petting of Sherlock's hair.
In other, more embarrassing news, Sherlock's hand on his thigh was very warm, and felt far too nice.
It must be getting late.
"Sherlock," John whispered as he leaned forward, his mouth close to the other's ear. "Sherlock, wake up. Time for bed."
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"Waking me up to tell me to sleep is the most idiotically backwards thing I've ever heard." he groused, cracking an eye open to glare at him in groggy irritability. He distantly realized that he'd made himself at home in John's lap, sighing when he realized the proximity was probably making John uncomfortable. "Just hand me a pillow and leave me here." he offered, knowing John would probably not submit to being his pillow for the few hours sleep he needed, comfortable and warm as he was. He sighed softly and let his eye fall shut again, going still and quiet in John's lap once again.
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Opening it at a random chapter, he began to read, resting a hand in Sherlock's hand again. One hour. Then he'd go to bed.
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"I apologize if anything I happen to say while I sleep makes you uncomfortable. I've talked in my sleep since i was a child, I can't control it. Most of it is completely nonsensical anyway, and is not often relevant." he said with a small shrug, getting comfortable again and more than pleased to drift off once again.
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He wondered, however, what on Earth Sherlock could say that would make John awkward, here, in the comfort of their home, with nobody around to hear Sherlock. That, more than anything else, was usually what made John stare up at the ceiling, or his shoes, hoping people would realize what Sherlock said was what Sherlock said. Oddly enough, people always seemed to think he spoke for them both. Which... he sort of did, but perhaps not always in the words John would have chosen, given the chance.
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"You know what I mean. I just don't want you to take offense to anything I might say and try to blame me for it later, that's all. Most of it doesn't mean anything." he clarified, making to fall asleep again, but really just enjoying the warm comfort of using John's lap as a pillow while he was still conscious.
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Not waiting for a response, John turned his attention to the book once more, wondering if he would get further than half a page before Sherlock would speak up in his sleep again. If he did, John fully intended to listen. Whether it made sense or was relevant did not matter. It was fascinating, and it was Sherlock, and most things Sherlock did drew John in like a moth to flame.
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"Mmn, John. Your new cologne, it's nice." he muttered, nuzzling happily into John's lap and squeezing his thigh gently. "I stole a bottle from your medicine cabinet. Still like it better on you." He sighed contentedly, enjoying the way he smelled even in whatever strange dream he was having.
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And onto the floor the book fell. To hell with the cologne, John would buy Sherlock five bottles if he liked it so much. But the nuzzling into his lap and the squeezing of his thigh would have to stop, quickly at that. It had been some time since having Sherlock in his life meant an average of three weeks of dating at most, and the last one (Angie? Angela? Anna?) had turned out to be very... conservative. Not that there was anything wrong with that, per se. But it did mean that... nuzzling and squeezing was, apparently, pathetically, enough to have his body respond in the most unwanted of ways.
Slowly breathing in and out, John willed himself to relax. Sherlock was dreaming. Dreams went by very quickly. He would stop soon. No need to wake him. Oh, God, no. No need at all. The embarrassment...
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John's own instinctual responses only made him move even more, nudging his face into his lap as he searched for a comfortable position. "Pillow is ill-designed.." he said through a sigh, finally finding a comfortable enough spot to still once again after a few more long moments of shifting restlessly.
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The only issue with this was the slight shiver that wracked him then, being clad only in his pajamas and dressing gown and no blanket. He squeezed in as close as physically possible as though it would aid in getting more warmth, huffing a little in sleep at how the chill was dragging him back into half-sleep rather than the peaceful rest he'd been getting earlier.
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Please, please stay asleep.
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"Mm, John." He gave a soft hum of satisfaction, knowing even in sleep that only John would be the only one worried for his comfort enough to keep him warm. "Thank you." he murmured, squeezing him tight and going boneless against him in an unconscious effort to make it impossible for him to move.
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At length, he checked his watch, revealing the time to be a little past midnight. Time to go to sleep, if he was going to be worth anything in the morning. Shifting carefully, he tried to slip out from under Sherlock, but knew that to be a lost cause before he even started.
"Sherlock," he murmured again, resting his hand on top of the other's hair once more. "I'm going to bed."
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"Just lie down here." he groused, not willing to give up his pillow and source of warmth that easily.
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